Strictly Professional
by pheonlynx
Summary: The Golden Trio have returned to Hogwarts one last time, for the seventh year they missed out on. All that the eighth years want is the uneventful year they've earned. But when the Reconciliation Programme forces them into a competition, will there be peace, or still more trouble?
1. A New Scheme

_Hello everyone and welcome. I must admit this is very different from my usual fair, but every author has to write at least one fic that is in some way Dramione. I anticipate that this will be largely light hearted and I apologise for the fact that it may become exceedingly cheesey and a bit bizarre - just warning you now. But if you guys like it I think it could reach a good length so let me know what you think. And before anyone asks, I did get inspiration from Strictly Coming back this weekend._

_Disclaimer: I am not J K Rowling an doubt I will become her during the writing of this fiction. All rights and all credit for Harry Potter and his universe are hers. I am borrowing and embroidering._

_I hope you like it, please review!_

Strictly Professional

**Chapter 1**

The new term was going well. It was October and the castle was quiet and peaceful in the dawn before the breakfast-rush. The new first years had settled in well. Even the necessary accommodation had been found easily for the extra students (Hogwarts Castle was, as a general rule, very accommodating) who were re-sitting seventh year, or just sitting it a year late. Disruption had affected everyone's lives, and almost every member of 'the lost year' had come back in September, ready to study for their NEWTS.

Yes, everything was going so well. But Minerva McGonagall, who was surveying the Hogwarts Grounds from the arched window of the Headmaster's Office, had a horrible feeling she was about to disturb the Castle's, the student's and her own well-deserved peace. Deputy Headmaster Slughorn had a new scheme and, as he had told the new Minister before her, his plan had full Ministry backing. The Headmistress' hands were tied, and she could put it off no longer. The announcement would be made after Breakfast, giving her and everyone else, about an hour and a half's more contentment before the metaphorical curse would be dropped – whether they knew it yet or not.

…

"What do you think that's about?" Ron asked through a mouth full of scrambled egg, looking at Hermione accusingly. Several other Gryffindors peered down the table at her too, clearly expecting their esteemed Head Girl to know the answer.

"If you're referring to Professor McGonagall's request that we 'eighth' years stay behind…?" She received an affirming nod. "Then I don't know. But clearly it's of importance – her expression was very grave – and so if I did know, I wouldn't tell you." Hermione ignored Ron's disgruntled noise and turned her attention back to her toast. Harry who was next to her jumped in to peace make, an over-anxious habit he had developed since his two best friends split up from their very brief relationship.

"Well we'll find out soon anyway. Lucky we all have frees first, or you can be sure the rest of the school would hang around to listen in. Thought we'd had the last of these special announcements when they figured out how to fit in three extra Defence Against the Dark Arts class groups…" Harry trailed off when neither friend paid any more attention to him than they were to their food. He heaved a sigh and helped himself to more bacon. He could only hope that whatever this announcement was it might force the two of them to be a bit more than vaguely civil to one another.

…

Draco Malfoy was leaning one elbow on the Slytherin table, waiting for McGonagall to stop muttering to Slughorn and tell them what the hell was going on. He'd had just about enough of complications, and everything had seemed to be getting back to how it should be. This was supposed to be the regular, peaceful seventh year they had all been denied. He had everything planned out and he didn't want anything to interfere with his plans.

Sure, things weren't quite how they were in his first four (and largely peaceful) years of Hogwarts. Crabbe and Goyle hadn't got the OWL grades to be offered a place in the new eighth year but he surprised himself by not missing their bulky presence. He really did want a quiet year, and those two meat shields would be constant reminders of the war that was over and done with. Another quite welcome change was his elevation to Head Boy. He knew choosing a Slytherin to star opposite the Gryffindor Princess was mostly just part of their 'reconciliation' policy that they kept going on about.

Still, he liked to think he would have been the obvious choice anyway. Now that the pressures that came with a Dark Lord taking up residency in your home were gone, his grades were back up to their excellent standard. Plus, he'd regained weight and relaxed back into his good looks over the summer: he really looked the part of charming young leader. Not to mention that anyone who cared to look could see that he almost enshrined their ideas of reconciliation. He was , all in all, a reformed character. His thoughts were cut off as he instinctively looked up to see why the noise level in the Great Hall had dropped. McGonagall was ready to let them off their tenterhooks.

…

Hermione looked up at their Headmistress, her face full of mild admiration as the older woman waited to begin until every voice in the crowded Hall was stilled. Whatever the Professor had to announce Hermione would offer her full commitment and support. It was her duty as Head Girl to lead through example and the Headmistress had her full loyalty – they had literally fought for each other in the past, after all.

Hermione focussed onto McGonagall as she drew breath to speak. "This year, with the approval and direction of the Ministry, Hogwarts will be sampling a new extra-curricular… competition. Due to our shared policy of reconciliation the Minister has seen fit to make this _activity_ compulsory for you. 'The lost year', those worst affected by the horrors that our society suffered, you are to be the ones who will have this opportunity to break down barriers, veto stereotypes and learn from each other. I'm afraid that it _is_ compulsory. No exceptions. I invite Professor Slughorn, who _helpfully_ gave the Ministry this… innovative idea, to explain the concept more fully"

Hermione frowned a little and glanced back to exchange a worried glance with Harry who simply shrugged and turned his attention back to Slughorn - who was taking his time coming to the lectern, clearly not having expected to speak. Whatever this was, Hermione mused, Minerva McGonagall did not really approve. Hermione was beginning to dread what this 'scheme' would entail… she remembered all too well what had happened the last time the Ministry had tried to interfere at Hogwarts. She was sure that if Harry and she had to organise another illegal group than they would. She just hoped it wouldn't be necessary. She wanted this year to juxtapose the last one and that meant it should be restful, danger free and _include _academic achievement.

Professor Slughorn's jovial voice interrupted her thoughts as he cheerfully addressed the gathered students. "Now then, Ladies and Gentleman… I am sure you are all eager to know exactly what you're all in for. Now, don't worry, you're all going to have the besttime. Of course, a little _dancing_ never hurt anyone." Here Slughorn waved down imaginary laughs from the students as he himself chuckled. "Yes, we're having a little dance competition. Ballroom mind you everyone… and, er, everyone will be partnered up – sometimes Slytherin to Gryffindor, sometimes pure-blood to muggle born or supposed ' blood traitor' to muggle born and so on. This is the next step in our reconciliation, and it will be great fun too! The Ministry has identified that our society remains fragmented, and you are the generation that will form it back into a whole!

"Now, each pair will have one month to prepare… and then, say, fortnightly, every pair will perform for the School. After a few dances, a ballot will be taken and the least popular couple will be voted out of the competition. Now, before you all go and dust off your ball gowns let me add a few details!" Slughorn was completely ignoring the despairing groans and rowdy complaints that were spreading through the hall, but was displaying enough enthusiasm to make up for them all anyway. "The winning couple will receive a substantial number of House points for their prospective Houses, extra credit _and_ an interview at the end of their year – with a view to an eventual job offer – from a major wizarding corporation or organization! That includes Hogwarts itself, St. Mungo's and even the Ministry of Magic! And now I hand you back to Professor McGonagall so she may tell you what you are all most anxious to here." With this Slughorn positively bounced back to his seat, a beam on his face and a gleam in his eye. He could not have seemed more chuffed.

Professor McGonagall's demeanour could not possibly have been more different. She returned to the lectern with a stony expression and gripping tightly a role of parchment that bore the fate of them all.

"What follows are the names of female students, and then the name of their partner. I am assured that these pairs are non-negotiable.

"Hannah Abbot…Neville Longbottom… Lavender Brown… Theodore Nott… Susan Bones…Terry Boot… Mandy Brocklehurst... Seamus Finnegan… Millicent Bullstrode… Harry Potter..."

_Oh Merlin…_ thought Hermione. It was getting close. Surely she wouldn't have to… surely life wouldn't be so cruel.

"Hermione Granger…" McGonagall's voice rang clear as she glanced at her Head Girl and Hermione could see the apology in her eyes. _Please no_… she twisted her fingers in her lap, pleating her skirt nervously… _anyone but him!_

_"_…Draco Malfoy…" The Headmistress carried on but Hermione paid no attention. _Fantastic_ a sarcastic voice chimed in Hermione's mind. This was a nightmare. She could feel her posture drooping as Harry rested a comforting hand on her arm, but she kept her eyes fixed on the Headmistress. There was no way she was turning to catch site of the ferret. She'd have to deal with him enough later.


	2. Lodging Complaint

_Evening guys, I'd just like to say thanks so much for the positive feedback - I've never had a story with follows and favourites after just one chapter._ _I'd especially like to thank the wonderful people who reviewed: _MemoirsofaLostCause, a fan, Mithrendil _(who has a great LOTR story for mature readers)_ _and _Sweeney B _(who has a first chapter that looks promising). You guys are awesome._

_So now onto some brief housekeeping. If you review I'll mention your name, check out some of your work, and either leave a review or recommend it on here (maybe both). Also, these first few chapters are setting the scene but we should have a bit more action soon!_

Disclaimer: I'm still not JK, I don't own Harry Potter, but I hope you'll enjoy it all the same.

**Chapter 2**

Ron was swearing under his breath by the time Hermione had dared to glance around. She looked at Harry questioningly, aware Ron would throw a fit if he realised she hadn't listened to who he was paired with. Harry quirked a half smile at her before mouthing 'Pansy'. Hermione might have giggled at the switch over – everyone would have paired her up with Ron, and put the two Slytherins together before today . She might have, if she wasn't too busy nibbling her lip and working out how this inarguably violated her human rights or was clearly somehow against wizarding law – in short, trying to find a way out of it.

Draco _Malfoy_ for heaven's sake. He was everything vicious, cruel, temperamental, spoilt, mean… not to mention arrogant. He was probably the most demanding partner she could possibly have ended up with. No doubt Mr Privileged had danced at all the pure-blood balls, and so would find this a breeze – but expect her to keep up. And Hermione was not at all certain she could even manage the basic steps of a waltz. She'd read somewhere that it was step, side, together and a tango was…

Ergh. What did it matter? She was going to find a way out of this. She would not be humiliated in front of, or by, Malfoy. Of course, Hermione had no doubt that if she did this competition stuff she would be humiliated. The physical… it just wasn't her thing. She came very close to being clumsy, had always loathed PE in primary school and her performance on a broom showed that anything more physical than 'swish and flick' really was not her forte. She might have got a little fitter over the last year, running around dodging curses, but it wasn't really something to help one develop poise. It did improve survival instinct, but survival instinct was just another part of Hermione that would not allow her to go willingly into the arms of the ferret.

A few minutes had passed and the eighth years remained in the Great Hall, filling it with mumbled complaints and, in a very few instances, excited chatter. Hermione stood up jerkily, looking down at Harry and Ron. This would not do. It was completely ridiculous, unfair – and an unnecessary waste of time when they were all here to pass the NEWTS. Well, Hermione was there not just to pass but get Os. That was the minimum required in at least three subjects to be accepted onto medi-witch training. She could not waste time fighting, or dancing, with Malfoy. She was going to do something about it and from the irritated looks on their faces, these boys would come to.

…

Draco Malfoy lazily trained his eyes on Granger and co. as they strode from the Great Hall. Whether she was rushing to the library – Granger would hate to lose… what? A whole ten minutes of study time – or to get out her dancing shoes, he could not tell. She didn't exactly look happy, but perhaps she was intimidated. He had the lean, toned body of a professional athlete (or dancer), the poise of a prince and, with his years of practice and natural rhythm, dancing was as easy as breathing to him. He could see why the girl was nervous, but she'd bagged the best partner there was!

The situation was not so ideal for him. Even now he'd gotten over his initial disgust at the prospect and thought of all the benefits, he could not say he was thrilled. She was a little short to make them a great couple and it would be difficult to pretend to fancy the frizzy haired witch, even if just on the dance floor. Plus he couldn't be certain how much training she had had, he assumed muggles were civilised enough to at least give their daughters the basics… he just hoped teaching her to move wouldn't take up too much of his time. Regardless, this was the perfect opportunity to resurrect his family's reputation, to salvage the Malfoy name the way his mother had managed to save the estate and most of their money. He could see the headlines now – all over _The Prophet _and _The _Oracle: 'DRACO MALFOY DANCES TO VICTORY ALLIED WITH THE DARLING OF THE RESISTANCE!' – and he really thought they couldwin.

Sure, Blaize might offer some interesting competition, they had shared the same tutors after all and he could definitely give Draco a runs for his money when it came to Latin dances, but the Lovegood girl didn't seem likely to remember steps, or stay in hold for that matter. The Malfoys needed this win, and Draco would provide it. Dancing with a bookworm seemed a small price to pay for saving his family honour and he could use the extra credit too, given the distractions he'd had over the last few years. This wasn't a bad idea of old Slughorn's… Draco just wished he could have had a partner a bit more… glamorous. Never mind, Granger was the best choice for showing his support for reconciliation to the world, even if, in the privacy of his head, the thought of dancing with her was enough to send him running back to the Death Eaters.

…

"Ah, I wondered when I would be seeing you. Come in." Minerva McGonagall greeted the Head girl and her friends, nodding them to seats before her desk. "No need to ask you why you are here." Their set expressions and determined stares spoke for themselves. The three Gryffindors nodded, looking to each other to confirm what everyone presumed anyway: that Hermione would act as spokesperson for them. "I'll warn you now that there is nothing to be done, but before you have your say I will summon Professor Slughorn so that he may defend his scheme and answer your questions."

The Professor conjured a silvery, ethereal cat and sent it off with her message. The Headmistress really wasn't sure why she had given Slughorn the position of Deputy… perhaps it was that Dumbledore had hired him twice, and she was trying to keep the spirit of Dumbledore alive here in Hogwarts. She shot a wry glance at the portrait of the blue-eyed warlock who was exchanging pleasantries with the Gryffindor trio, next to the painting of Snape who wore his customary sneer and looked down dissaprovingly.

A moment later Slughorn stepped out from the fire in the Head's Office, dusting soot from his plum coloured robes. McGonagall couldn't decide if he was singularly obtuse, or just trying to cajole the three when he said:

"Harry m'boy! I'm surprised to see you here, bet you can't wait to grab your partner and get practicing! Bulstrode, wasn't it for you? Fine gal, from my own house. No doubt had all the right tutors growing up… I'm sure you'll all make splendid couples when you got on the floor with your partners-"

McGonagall chose to cut him off. He was failing to realise that their stony expressions had not changed, even for politeness' sake. "Professor Slughorn, these students are here to complain because they do not want to join in with your little dance competition. Please explain to them why we cannot offer them an escape, as much as we may sympathise."

"Oh." Said Slughorn dejectedly, suddenly looking crestfallen. "Well, it's compulsory. The Ministry has decided that all you eighth years will dance, for the sake of reconciliation in the future… you know? I'm sure you needn't look so down, it will be a lark! Anyway, I have a third year class to set up for, lots of ingredients for this brew…" He ended on a mumble and climbed back into the fire, scattering some floo powder and muttering 'Potions Dungeon'.

Hermione spoke up, deciding to ignore the inane babble the Potions Master had contributed. "Professor, with my Head Girl duties and my high predicted grades, I'm really not sure that I will have time for this... scheme. I'm sure it' very worthy but I think I'm doing enough for reconciliation having to share the Head's Bathroom with Malfoy…"

"Miss Granger, you are the Head Girl and I would suggest that your role is most important in this scheme. You set the example and others will follow. Whatever demands there may be on your time, or patience, you must lead from the front. Besides, you and Malfoy have the most to prove about reconciliation – above all the other couples. The grudge you two have born has been public and your partnership will be the most potent example – besides, that grudge has really gone on long enough."

"Professor it's more than grudge and I'm not being stubborn – not just being stubborn – haven't Harry, Ron and I had enough grief from those bigoted, nasty-" Hermione was cut off by a knock on the office door, which then swung open obligingly.

"Speak of the devil" muttered Ron, having peered over his shoulder.

"Ah Headmistress, I just wondered if there was a specific dance we are to perform first?" Came the cool, clipped voice from the doorway.


	3. Adament Refusal

_Hello everyone and thanks so much for the positive response, I hope you enjoy this chapter and I promise things will really get going soon. My especial thanks to the wonderful lovelies Gracie Reagan, MemoirsofaLostCause and MzMalfoy for their very kind reviews!_

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I'm sorry if anyone's disappointed but I'm still not J K Rowling and I sadly have yet to gain rights to Harry Potter and that world._

**Chapter 3**

Hermione turned in her seat and there, true to form was Malfoy, with the ever-present hint of a smirk on his lips, his posture was relaxed and confident. Hermione might have carried on with her rant, but calling him nasty and so on to his face might ruin the working-relationship they had just developed. Besides, something about his presence had made her loose her train of thought. It seemed no one knew quite what to say. Eventually, the countless uncomfortable moments of a few seconds pause were interrupted by Ron.

"You aren't seriously going along with this are you Malfoy? I thought you were all out to study for a cushy job this year – as much as you might want to prance around in sparkly shirts."

Hermione shot Ron a warning look; that last insult had been unnecessary. She looked up at Draco and tried to assess whether he was just winding them up – surely he was here to complain too? But his expression was un-readable, his pureblood mask of passivity was firmly in place. She rallied her nerves and decided to take the plunge, quite sure Malfoy would back her up.

"I was just explaining to the Headmistress that, with our Head duties, it will be quite impossible for us to participate in this competition." Hermione turned back to Professor McGonagall, showing what she hoped was a winning smile as, for the first time she pushed her luck with her favourite teacher. "As much as we may wish to participate, it simply will not be possible, I'm sure Mr Malfoy agrees that we must put our duty to the school and students first."

"Lighten up Granger," Draco drawled from where he leant on the door frame. "We all know of your control freak tendencies, but there's this thing called _delegation._ Think about it, there's even more prefects this year. We could easily make time to rehearse, and you must admit that your 'duty' involves full support of the reconciliation regime."

Malfoy's face remained impassive, illegible. He seemed to be treating this as an exercise in logic and argument. His smug smirk returned as Hermione saw McGonagall nodding her head in her peripheral vision. _That little snake._ Hermione would bet that if _she'd _been excited about the dancing, _he'd_ have refused to join in. The lioness' blood began to boil and her stubborn streak rose, making her act remarkably rashly for a know-it-all.

"I adamantly refuse to take part in this ridiculous scheme." She folded her arms and tilted her chin determinedly.

…

Draco knew his eyes were glinting silver with triumph as he made his way down the spiral stairs from the Head's Office. As soon as he realised Granger was dead set against the dancing, it gained a little more appeal. As much as they'd maintained civility over the past months, he had spent the years before that teasing her mercilessly, and it seemed old habits died hard. His long, masculine lips pulled up into a deep smirk as he thought of the arrangement he'd just agreed with the rather weary Headmistress – Granger, Weasel and Potty had stomped off as soon as they realised McGonagall wouldn't budge, and now he had a real treat in store for her.

Winning this competition was going to be as simple as taking drubles from a baby and _just_ challenging enough to keep him entertained outside of class. McGonagall had told him that the first dance (the one that all couples would perform in the same week) would be a waltz. _Surely, even Granger must be proficient in a measly waltz, _he thought confidently as he strode down the corridor, sending members of the lower years scattering in his wake. Draco was sure that after, say, a week, they'd have perfected their waltz routine and she'd have gotten used to his lead. That meant they'd be able to use the rest of the month until the first performance to get a head start on the other dances.

Draco began to devise a schedule to have them optimally prepared for whatever second dance they were given. It would be hectic, taking a lot of man hours to plan out a basic routine for every ball-room dance. _Yep Granger,_ he thought with a smug smile, _you won't know what's hit you._

…

Harry watched Hermione over his cauldron as he haphazardly scattered Dittany Seeds into his steaming brew. Her shoulders were tight, her posture awkward and she kept rubbing the nape of her neck – as though soothing an ache. Harry himself was paired with Ron, who seemed far from mindful of their friend's cares. Hermione was paired with Luna, and didn't seem to be taking in a word the eccentric young witch was saying.

Harry looked at Luna; the wide-eyed girl had, predictably, taken everything in her stride. She had turned to chat to them before the lesson began and declared that, as she had seen Blaze Zabini inadvertently frighten off a Nargle once, she was optimistic of the pairing. It had been all Harry could do to keep his countenance and Ron had loudly guffawed – though Luna had clearly gotten used to the idea that Ron was always like that, and didn't take offense. Hermione hadn't so much as rolled her eyes.

With that thought Harry turned back to his bookworm friend. She was bent studiously over her text book and though her hair always frizzed in the steam, today it seemed to almost bristle with tension. Her foot was taping very lightly and quickly against the stone floor of the dungeon, a clear sign to Harry that she was working on how to resolve something that was irritating her. Given that she had already turned her potion down to simmer, Harry suspected that the problem distracting her wasn't in the book.

…

"Hermione, will you just relax already?" Ron entreated as the headed down to the Hall for dinner, "We all have to do it, at least you don't have to tango with that tart, or steer a lump like Bulstrode round the floor in front of _everyone... _Thank God my brothers are older!" He cried out as he  
realised that small mercy. There was no way he'd live this down as it was, let alone if the actually got to see him up close and personal with pug-face Parkinson. Ron heard Harry laugh and glanced across to him as they followed Hermione (who had merely humphed at his comment) down stairs. Harry's green eyes were merry and he grinned a little as he said:

"You're right there mate, but you're forgetting your devious sister, my girlfriend, who will be especially vicious as she can't join in and has to see me dance with a snakette. And! We must remember how much time she's spending helping out at Wizard Wheezes, and how a detailed report is bound to get back to-"

"Yes! Alright you don't have to spell it out. I see your point and I'd like to take back what I said… Hermione, your reaction is perfectly understandable and when you come up with your genius plan to get out of it, I'd be very grateful if you'd include me." Ron's ears had tinted pinker just at the thought and he almost simpered as he entreated Hermione to aid him.

…

Dinner passed quickly with Hermione bearing a full 'I'm thinking' frown and muttering occasionally, while Ron offered her encouragement from across the table. Sometimes he even emptied his mouth before he chivvied her along. Harry took the frequent lack of conversation as an opportunity to sneak covert glances at his dance partner, until Ginny turned up and effectively put a stop to that.

As soon as she slid onto the bench next to Harry she demanded to know what, precisely, she had missed and what the eighth year meeting was about – they had missed each other at lunch due to a seventh year Charms class. Harry told her quickly, sparing her any more anxious waiting. Soon Ginny was peering, much less discretely then he had, at Harry's partner on the Slytherin table.

"It's alright Harry, I can deal with this: she isn't too pretty… she's a little…"

"She looks like a toad." Harry supplied helpfully. Ginny admonished him with a slap on the arm for his bluntness, though the smug curve of her cheeks as she tried to hide her smile told him she was secretly pleased. And he was pleased. He's spent enough, too much, time worrying Ginny over the last few years: he never wanted his love to fret again.

The group of Gryffindor war heroes were all startled from their thoughts when a deep, smooth voice interrupted them and made a request with perfectly casual confidence.

"Granger, might I have a word?"


	4. Confession

_Hello lovelies, I hope you are all well. Took me a while to write this one, I've not written much Draco-Hermione dialogue as yet and there was more in this chapter so I hope you like it. Once again I must express my gratitude for the people who read, follow/favourite and especially those who review: Gracie Laufey, MemoirsofaLostCause and Sweeney B. There's nothing more helpful than insightful comments, and I love reading feedback, thank you._

**Chapter 4**

"What is it Malfoy?" Hermione questioned, her voice evidencing exasperation. He smirked down at her in the deserted corridor, the passage was dimly quiet as most people were still at dinner. That included Weasel and Pothead, and Malfoy had enjoyed their disgruntled faces when he drew their Gryffindor princess away.

"Calm down Granger, I just didn't think you'd want Potty and co spying on our first rehearsal. I've come up with a schedule that I'm sure you'll be amenable too." Draco smirked as she drew herself up to her full height at the idea of being 'amenable'. She was still much smaller than him, only a little above the height of his shoulder as she held herself indignantly straight.

"I have no intention of-"

"Yes I heard. But until you give up on finding a fool-proof excuse, do you mind moving your feet while you think? I won't have you make a fool of me when we're lagging behind everyone else. Tomorrow, 8 o clock. I'll meet you outside the Common Room."

…

Hermione let out a barely audible growl at Malfoy's retreating back. He had dropped that bombshell and stalked off, arrogantly assuming her compliance. Hermione sulkily hoisted her bag on her shoulder and resisted the urge to stamp her foot, instead contenting herself with a glare in the direction he had headed.

She ran a hand through her hair as she headed towards the library – she had lost her appetite and didn't feel like braving the atmosphere in the eighth year Common Room. _Perfect._ Just _peachy. _All she needed was more pressure and a dead line. If she wanted to escape an evening with Malfoy being superfluously snide and superior then she had about twenty-five hours to come up with something, and she definitely wanted that escape. With that thought she let her heavy bag clunk onto her favourite table and resolved to begin her search.

Hermione Granger had traversed even the dustiest sections of the vast Library in her time at Hogwarts. She knew where to find details of the Blue Salamander's mating habits, amongst other even more obscure magical particulars. Indeed, it was safe to say that Hermione knew this Library as well as any student down the years, but, as she was familiar with her wizarding rights, she was going to have to search for a section on dance. That was one of very few topics she had never researched. The Head Girl saw she was going to have to enlist the help of the one person who she could be certain knew the Library better than she did.

"Madame Pince?"

…

Tapping his foot was beneath Draco. He had too much dignity, too much composure, to betray impatience so obviously. But if that _bloody mudblood_ was another minute late he would be marching into that Common Room to get her. Secrecy or no secrecy.

The corridor was quiet, dark as the minutes moved further and further along their journey past eight. Draco was just about to carry out his unvoiced threat when the fore-mentioned Head Girl rounded the corner. There was an expression in her eyes of abject apprehension and Draco almost felt guilty for the less than sympathetic way he had been treating her. But then she caught sight of him and her gaze hardened. Draco inwardly scoffed at himself; this witch was un-pitiable. She'd probably kept him waiting just to try and show him she didn't accept his control.

"So you didn't find a get out clause?" He asked without looking at her as she fell into step beside him and he led the way to the practice room. From his peripheral vision he could see her stepping quickly to try and keep up with his long stride, but didn't bother to slow. The less time they wasted together, the better – for both of them. It seemed she wasn't wasting anything either; she hadn't replied and he assumed he could take her presence as confirmation enough. _The little genius is yet to come up with a master plan? – shock horror._ Draco mentally shoved aside the sarcastic voice in his head as he physically pushed open the door to the empty classroom.

They were in the lesser-used West Wing of the Castle, on the fourth floor. Draco knew from experience that this room was very rarely occupied – he had completed covert business and enjoyed discrete pleasure in the shadowy recesses of it. But he had come up here earlier and cast a few charms to transform it: the classroom that had always seemed dim was now lit brightly; the battered desks that had been strewn in casual order were banished to a corner and stacked haphazardly; the dirty windows were now clean and tinted a little, the wall opposite them was completely reflective. It was quite convincingly a dance studio.

Draco drew himself back to the moment, aware of Granger's quiet and hovering presence to his left. He turned to face her, trying to keep to the idea of 'mind over matter' and maintain an open posture as he thought of what was about to happen. He had to fight his natural aversion to her presence, and combat the instinctive disgust at the thought of touching her. Draco closed his eyes briefly and drew in a quiet, life-giving, breath. When they flashed open again a moment later, he was ready.

"Alright Granger, let's see what you can do."

Hermione jerked her head a little at his words and held her breath as she approached him. He stood tall and lean and elegantly dressed in black trousers and an ice blue linen shirt. His posture was relaxed, entirely casual and confident. To Hermione, everything about his slim and silent figure was expectant and intimidating, and she was aware that the last time they'd been as close as this, she had punched him. Hermione took the plunge and copied the illustration she'd seen in 'Dance: the duo's discipline'.

Was this actually real? Surly this was some joke? or bluff?

Granger's hand was too heavy, despite its tiny size, in his hand. Her grip on his shoulder was far too tight. Defying the hand he had steeled himself to press to her waist, she stood excessively far away from him. All of this was wrong.

Draco was quite sure no one could feel weirder about this than he did; it was hard to know how to be 'normal' when he was about to do something that he would never have contemplated even a week ago. Something for the past seven years he would have adamantly refused to do, if anyone had the impudence to suggest it.

Yet none of this effected what he was trying to do. This stance, the ballroom hold, the poise, was easy. It was as natural as breathing to him. _How_ could she, feisty war hero, be so discomposed she was failing to simply be in hold?

"Granger, you do know we're about to waltz? This isn't a barn-raising, barn-dance whatever you call it."

His voice was imperious, and Hermione felt his disdain showed that he had expected little better from a 'mudblood'. But his stormy eyes were filled with genuine confusion and it was clear he wasn't just baiting her. She was doing something wrong, even after her attempts at researching escape had become research to avoid humiliation, she had got this basic stance wrong. And Hermione hated that she didn't know how to do it right. It went against her nature, this not knowing, and she suddenly became aware of how vulnerable she was – in a realer way than simply being alone with Malfoy.

So her guard was up and she snatched her hands from him. "Look, just because you think your God's gift doesn't mean I'm thrilled about having your hands all over me! And you're dead wrong if you think I'm going to _let_ this humiliation happen – these rehearsals are nothing because I'm not doing this competition with you! Oh, and don't pretend you're so eager to touch a filthy muggle-born like –"

"Granger, calm the hell down!" Draco's voice bellowed through her babbling tirade and Hermione realised there was nothing she could do, she had to admit her ignorance and get it over with. "What the Salazar is wrong with you? Just get in hold and we can be out of here in an hour and you can get back to your feckless friends…"

Hermione took a deep breath, her arms folded defensively and her head dipped down so her eyes could examine the grain in the wooden floor. She said it, and stared at the tiny shapes, unblinking, until her eyes were sore and watery blind.

"Granger, I didn't quite catch that. If you'd maybe have the courtesy to lift your head-"

"I can't dance! Okay? The only time I've danced anything like this was the Yule ball, and that was years ago…"

"Yes, but you didn't show Krum up then."

Hermione flashed her watery eyes up to his grey stare and her cheeks flushed rosily as she made another confession to the last person she felt like sharing with. "My shoes were charmed."

Draco was baffled. He assumed she'd know the basics, and expected she'd be able to perform the obvious dances (waltz, tango, salsa) at the very least. He hadn't even considered that she might know nothing. He'd just started to think muggles were alright, but this showed they really were uncivilised – no young woman could get through their childhood of wizarding education without learning those simple steps. This was… inconvenient. To say the least.

"We're not going to be done in an hour Granger."


	5. A Myriad of Colours

_Hello everyone and welcome to another humble offering to the glorious world of Harry Potter. As always I would like to thank the amazing readers who find it in themselves to review: _Gracie Laufey_, _MemoirofaLostCause_,_ Mithrendil_,_ _and _eyechange. _Your reviews are so wonderfully kind and really inspiring, thank you._ _Everyonelse thank you so much for just reading, it's wonderful that you do._

_Quick update to anyone reading my other multi-chapter fic: I am really sorry for the wait. I've promised myself I won't update this again until I've written something for Young Narcissa too._

**_Disclaimer:_**** I am not J.K Rowling and I sadly have no rights to Harry Potter and the recognisable content - no copyright infringement is intended.**

**Chapter 5**

Hermione couldn't say how long they'd been in there, but during the minutes of stumbling, toe treading and cursing, the sky had changed from inky blue to deeper, shadowy indigo. It was a cloudy night and no bright gems broke up the thick velvet of the sky. The tinted windows looked out onto this dark canvas, and it was easy to forget the rest of the Castle and the world outside of the makeshift studio.

"Again." Hermione insisted, determined to get this right. The aim of their training session was simply to get Hermione used to the 'back, side, together' steps, so that when Draco introduced turns, spins and an eventual lift, the transition would not be too impossible. Hermione was surprisingly good. She really was quite competent, until she looked away from her feet. Unfortunately, Draco insisted that however uncomfortable it made them, they would have to keep eye contact. He also maintained that a dancer's posture did not involve stooping over to peer at their shoes, but holding the head erect and embodying grace and poise.

They had only paused in their relentless training so that Hermione could undetectably strengthen the toes of Draco's Brogues, basically making a pair of steel-toe-caps for him. She'd taken pity on her tutor when, after so many incidents of stamping, his winces of pain couldn't be hidden by his pureblood countenance. His much-abused feet were one less thing to worry about as they stood again for another attempt, and Hermione hoped that it might make all the difference. Once more she managed to move with him across the floor, but when they turned to return he told her:

"Eyes up Granger" His voice was smooth and close to her ear now that he had corrected her posture, his drawl bored but surprisingly patient. The brush of his breath on her neck caused warmth to spread across Hermione's cheeks, a warmth which she desperately hoped was in no way visible. Ignoring her irritating reaction, she nodded and lifted her eyes, tilting her chin so she could meet his silvery stare. They started to move. They made it half way across the room causing Draco to encourage her with a blunt "Good." But she barely heard him over the counting in her head, and before they could reach the far wall her feet had once more disobeyed her focused mind. At least Draco didn't have to supress a yelp this time.

…

Now that he'd had a chance to think about it, Draco realised he had been rather naïve to assume something about muggle culture. It seemed so obvious to him, a fact of life, that girls were tutored to dance – if not paint and sing too. But he knew next to nothing about muggles. A probing part of him had begun to wonder what a mudblood's upbringing would be like, and he was fighting his curiosity to keep from asking her something, anything at all, about her old life. That was the worst part of Granger not knowing anything about dancing: all of this was so simple it gave him far too much time to think. His feet moved to the music coming from his wand with the barest prompting from his brain, and he could maintain the 'in hold' position entirely unconsciously. It left his mind free to wander, and wonder, too often turning to the girl in his arms.

Granger's hair. It was the first thing he'd noticed in his bored state as it was practically all he could see while she hunched to watch their feet. She'd done something to it, it was no longer a massive frizz but a jumble of curls that fell a little too sporadically to have been styled, and while it wasn't attractive, it was certainly a striking change. She probably improved it a while ago, but he mustn't have noticed. The stereotypes in the wizarding world had a habit of letting you notice just what you expected and wanted to see, and Draco had only been seeing the unkempt nerd he anticipated.

Beyond that Draco had noticed that she had decent poise, for a mudblood at least. She rarely went out of time and once he had shown her how to stand it was only her head and neck that defiantly moved out of that position. And he'd noticed her hands, that they had the habit of tightening in a split second warning before her feet collided with his. She gripped onto him, as though he could keep her from it, whenever she felt the panicked confusion that lead to a mistake.

Draco internally grimaced as he flexed his abused toes in his reinforced shoes. He'd have to get some salve for the bruising when he returned to his quarters; he didn't want to wake up to find them all swollen the next day. With Granger struggling as she was, he could see he'd need to be ready for dancing most nights over the next few weeks. _Marvellous. Fantastic. More time in Granger's _delightful_ company, and more hits to my feet. Incompetent mudboods…_Draco sneered in his head and brought his wandering mind back to the present. He found Granger stood up, seemingly ready for another trek across the floor, but Draco's resentful thoughts and sore feet had him speaking to stop her.

"I think I've had about as much of this as I can put up with Granger, sorry to disappoint you." Draco felt a foreign and uncomfortable churning when he saw the surprise and disappointment in her face. The girl really was obsessive. She'd clearly lost track of time in her focus to master the steps. She'd just given a curt nod and Draco found his mouth moving without real permission from his brain. "You did good though…"

_What the hell? Where did the come from? _She was giving a cautious smile when he made an attempt to undo the damage of his over-friendly words. "-for someone so entirely without skill. We'll have to practice again tomorrow. Same time, same place – I assume someone so famed for their brightness will be able to find their way back?"

"Oh, don't you worry yourself Malfoy. I'll see you tomorrow." With that she abruptly turned and left the room. Draco smiled as he listened to the rhythm of her fading footsteps, finally at ease now her… unsettling presence was removed from him. This was good. Her last words had been cool, distant, and mildly hostile. This was at it should be. It wasn't natural for her to smile at him, and it went against his nature to be so notably kind to her. If their rehearsals were to continue without upset, he would have to guard himself more carefully from then on.

…

Hermione walked quickly on her meandering route back to the Common Room. She had lost track of time, and she could kill two birds with one stone by performing her Head Girl duties of a nightly round on her way back to her Dorm. She kept her wits about her as she moved through the silent halls, listening unnecessarily attentively for any sounds of disturbance. Her eyes had quickly adjusted to the dim light coming from the torches mounted on the walls, and she could see no sign of trouble either.

She didn't expect to find any difficulties really. There was never any serious trouble now, the war was over, the light had won and Hogwarts was working to school a generation of peace-keepers. But Hermione had not survived a war be being lax and she welcomed her mind's focus on registering and analysing every change that met her senses: she did not want to dwell on her evening. She was unsatisfied with the night's work and not merely because he was unused to failing to meet a goal she set. Her curiosity had been piqued. She'd seen glimpses of a Malfoy that seemed… odd. That did not fit with the Malfoy she knew – either pre or post war. She had not painted Malfoy so black and white as Harry and Ron had done over the years, but the myriad of colours she had begun to suspect in him this evening was entirely unprecedented.

A complicated Malfoy, an intriguing Malfoy, would be much harder for her to deal with. Despite the cold way in which the Head's had parted, Hermione could no longer completely dread their next rehearsal, and that would make her so much less likely to find a way to get out of the competition. She still saw the competition as a waste of time, an insult to their maturity, and a darn silly idea, but she was intrigued by the new facets that dancing might reveal in Malfoy. Hermione was stubborn to a fault and always had difficulty leaving a question unanswered. The evening had inspired in her so many questions about Malfoy, Hermione worried that she might now struggle to leave him alone.


End file.
